Mom

My mom is the most amazing person I have ever known, hands down. She’s loving, compassionate, sympathetic, tolerant, patient, sweet, hilarious, sensitive, beautiful, independent and smart. I am in awe of her. She is my rock, my constant, my best friend. We’ve always been very close, telling each other everything, relating to each other’s lives (our husbands are so similar, it’s scary), and sharing in our happy times and our low times.

I’ve always felt like we’re a lot alike and have always understood each other. For once in my life, I wish she couldn’t relate to me and what I’m going through. I hate that she’s experienced this pain, this agony, this emptiness. I hate that someone I love as much as her knows what this feels like. What it feels like to lose a child.

I was only 15 when my brother died. He was just two weeks old and never left the hospital. That was the most horrific time for all of us, for so many reasons. But how could a 15-year-old ever understand that kind of grief? How could anyone, for that matter? You couldn’t, unless it’s happened to you.

And it happened to me, unbelievably. I still don’t believe it. I feel like I’m talking about someone else, living someone else’s life. I know she’s gone and I will never see her beautiful face again, but the enormity of it almost feels temporary. I don’t think that makes sense but sometimes, I find myself saying “This IS forever”. And that sucks. Really, really sucks.

And my mom GETS it. I hate that she does, but I am so grateful at the same time. She knows what it feels like to not want to get out of bed. She knows what it feels like to be so fragile, you don’t want to be touched or looked at. She knows what to say and what not to say. She knows, just by looking at me or hearing my voice, when I need her. She knows that it takes time, lots and lots of time. She knows that I want a baby more than anything to fill these empty arms. She knows that it’s not a replacement, but a chance to love another child. She knows that sometimes I just don’t want to talk, at all. And she knows that quite possibly, the next day I’ll feel like talking about Maggie all day long.

She gets it. And I love her so much for that. She means the world to me and I am so blessed to have her as my mom, my best friend, my constant.

Thank you, Mom, for getting me through the last 3 months. The dark days don’t seem quite as dark when I know you’re there for me.

I love you.